


Body Language

by anastasiiya



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Shameless Smut, bottom!Illya, top!napoleon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 02:46:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4770605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastasiiya/pseuds/anastasiiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya are fluent in many languages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Language

Peril’s stretching out beneath me, one arm behind his head as his other tugs my hair. I’m sucking him off as best I can, but his dick is as fucking long as the rest of him. I’ve sucked a few cocks in my life, but Christ his is the thickest and longest. It’s not as thick as mine, but it’s more than enough.

I’ve got one hand stroking the base of his cock because there’s no way I can take the whole thing. Not yet. I’m dropping down his dick and dragging my hand forward to meet my lips and then pulling back. Illya seems pleased enough, but he’s not moaning enough for my tastes.

I pop off his dick and cock at brow at him. His hands grab either side of my head and push my face down to rub against his dick. Precome smears against my cheek and I can’t help but laugh.

“Greedy.” I chuckle, one hand running down the back of his thigh. 

He shrugs and thrusts his dick against my cheek. “Get back to work.”

I roll my eyes and acquiesce, both hands working his dick while I run my tongue over his slit. He closes his eyes and I love how his dick twitches along with his chest as he tries to control himself. He’s losing control, and not in the angry way he’s used to. 

Neither of us is used to giving up power. I’m in charge now, and while I’m sucking him off I can’t help but compare us. He’s all strength, tall and powerful. His body, good fucking Lord. There aren’t words to describe how fucking sexy he is. The fucking accent, he’s blond (Christ I have a weakness for that), the fact his abs jerk in tandem with his cock as he grunts beneath me. He’s so goddamn pretty, but he’s got that underlying tension like he’s waiting to fuck you up. 

I’ve never beaten him in a grapple although I keep hoping it’s only a matter of time. I’ve got the kind of strength that’s sexier. I go to the gym because I want to look good. Nothing wrong with adding a few extra curls for the ladies, either. I’ve seen him work out—he doesn’t give a shit about anyone else. He’s lifting weights and running laps so he can fuck someone up. I’m strong but he’s stronger, and the muscles twitching in his thighs are proof.

I hollow my cheeks and glance up at him, and his face is flushed a pretty pink. That hair is falling into his eyes and he’s so goddamn gorgeous. I groan around his cock and let my eyes fall shut, and then he’s coming into my mouth.

“Fuck.” He growls. And then he grunts in Russian, calling me a charmer and telling me I’m good with my mouth. I agree. I get a lot of work done with simple conversation, a lot more than Illya who gets so fucking angry.

I pull back and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Illya groans and his legs splay around me. I smile at him because he’s cute. I really do want to beat him in a fight, but I’ll never have his willpower. I go to U.N.C.L.E.’s gym because an hour and a half of daily exercise is the minimum mandatory requirement for field agents not on active duty and he goes twice a day, once with me at U.N.C.L.E. and then later to this seedy place where he flips tires and grunts to other beefcake Russians. 

“I want to fuck you.” I say, because I want to fuck him. I’ve been rubbing his chest and playing with his nipples while lost in my thoughts, and one of his hands is still buried in my hair. The other is tracing my lips. He looks at me, and I start sucking on the thumb that’s slipped into my mouth. 

“Please.” I murmur around his hand. “I want you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his legs wrap around my torso. 

“Peril, I won’t if you don’t—“ I gasp as his hand drops to my dick. “I want you, but—“

“Yes.” He says. 

I smile again, and he sighs in fond exasperation. He tilts in head and I latch onto his neck and send one of my hands to fumble for the lube.

Illya doesn’t like to be fucked. It’s not the penetration or the attention I lavish on him, it’s the positioning. Regardless of how we orient our bodies, the person getting fucked is more vulnerable to attacks. Illya does not mind being vulnerable in sexual situations, but we’re secret agents. The majority of our sex is on location, and he feels exposed. I don’t really care because I’ve usually got a gun stashed nearby, but he’s… protective. Even when he bottoms from the top he feels uneasy. I just want him to fucking relax and enjoy himself and I like his cock up my ass, so really it’s a win/win for me.

But I love taking my time and working him open. I’m taking way longer than he needs for preparation, but fuck. I don’t get to play with his ass that often and it’s fun to watch him squirm. 

“Napoleon.” He says.

“Yeah?”

“Ready.” Illya moans. 

“Hmm… I seem to remember you doing this to me all the goddamn time and it’s ‘essential preparation’?”

“C-cowboy.” He grunts. “I’ve told you I’m ready. You’re wasting time.”

“Right.” I reply, grinning. I drag two knuckles across his prostate and he moans my name. “I don’t think this is a waste of time.”

“Hurry up.” He replies. His eyes are closed and he’s panting.

“Beg.” I whisper. “I want to hear you.”

He growls at me, and tosses and arms across his face to hide his eyes.

“I want it.”

“What do you want, Peril?” His legs jerk against me as I work a third finger inside of him.

“Napoleon, please.”

That’s as close as I’m going to get, and I slowly pull my fingers from his body. I bend over to pull his arm from his face and kiss him. He responds beautifully, wrapping one hand around my shoulders to hold my neck and his other hand runs down my chest. I groan into the kiss and he wraps his legs around my waist.

“Illya.” I breathe. “Illya, I—“

“Shh.” He kisses the side of my mouth and grabs my dick to line up with his ass. Then he pushes down and I gasp as I slide inside him.

“Oh fuck, Illya. Oh god, you feel so good.”

He chuckles and grinds against me. I look into his eyes and wait while he adjusts, and when he shrugs I slowly begin to piston my hips.

I set an anguishing pace, dragging my cock ever so slowly across his prostate before pushing back inside. One of my hands holds my torso above his body, and the other is pumping his cock.

Illya’s legs are yanking my waist towards him, and he manages to get me to speed up by sheer force. It’s so like him I can’t help but laugh.

He smiles at me and I kiss him.

Twenty minutes later I’m curled up against his chest. His hand runs down my side and slowly up, and Illya looks at me with a slightly reverent expression as if he can’t believe his luck. I grin and kiss his nose, and his face scrunches up. 

I think we suit each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.
> 
> xoxo


End file.
